A Job For The Ladies
by Sita Z
Summary: The Ferengis' revenge. Spoilers for Acquisition and Singularity. Chapter 4 up! COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Job For The Ladies

Author; Sita Z.

Genre: Humor/ General

Rating: PG

Summary:The Ferengi's revenge. Spoilers for "Acquisition" and "Singularities".

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Enterprise, I'm not making any money from this.

AN: While I really LOVED "Acquisition", I felt there was something missing... Please R&R!

Chapter 1

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Sure feels like one of those days. Trip had crouched over that particular console for about forty minutes now, his back aching worse and worse as he tried to find out what had caused the malfunction. He felt his palms getting sweaty, as it was quite hot, crammed into that corner right beside the warpcore. After he'd dropped his hypospanner for the third time in two minutes and banged his head quite badly trying to retrieve the spanner from under the console, he threw his equipment into his tool kit and got up. It was no use, trying to repair the damage without checking the software first.

"I'll be on the bridge, Lieutenant," he called to Hess who was standing on the upper level reprogramming the radiation scanners. She nodded absentmindedly and Trip doubted she had heard him at all. Wiping his grimy hands on his uniform he made his way to the door and headed for the turbolift.

As he entered the bridge he _knew_ it was one of those days. It wasn't only his daily engineering peeves driving him up the walls. It was one of those days when you took one look at people and knew it was better to keep conversation to a minimum.

Jon was sitting in his Captain's chair, frowning down at some padd he was holding. Trip suspected it was that blasted introduction again. Somehow Command seemed to require Jonathan Archer to write an introduction to every single brochure or manual they came up with, and he seemed to require his senior staff to read and review every single one of them. 

Shouldn't be part of the job, at least not like that, Trip thought, glancing at Hoshi who raised her eyes, giving him a weary grin. Well, to be honest it was more like a grimace, but unlike the others she had at least acknowledged his presence. Meeting smile after smile, Trip thought sarcastically, taking place at his station and switching on the display. Oh yes, it _really_ was one of those days.

After a few minutes a subdued sound caught his attention, something like a... sniff. He looked up and his eyes fell on Malcolm, who was just reaching out for a box of kleenex standing on his console. He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose so hard Trip was afraid he might end up with his tissue soaked in brain lubricant, but apparently it didn't help much. Stuffing the handkerchief into the already bulging pockets of his uniform, he gave a mighty sneeze and was just turning back to his work when he noticed the Commander watching him. He gave Trip a miserable look, gesturing at his face.

"I dink I'b getting down wid a cold," he murmured apologetically.

Trip shook his head. "No kiddin'."

Malcolm sure looked like death warmed over, his face several shades paler than usual, his nose swollen and red, his eyes half-closed and puffy. Trip noticed a bright red glow on his cheekbones and realized Malcolm was probably running a fever. Just as he watched, the Armoury Officer's eyes closed once more and a second later he almost hit his forehead on the console as he gave another gigantic sneeze.

"_Gesundheit_," Hoshi said, throwing him a compassionate glance over her shoulder.

"Whatever that's supposed ta mean," Trip muttered, watching as Malcolm got himself another kleenex and sighed. He wished he'd had the time this morning to stop by the mess hall and get himself some coffee. But of course, it was one of those days. And you never had the time to get yourself a cup of coffee on those days. At the sound of Malcolm blowing his nose again, Jon raised his head in irritation.

"I'm never going to get that introduction finished if you keep doing that, Lieutenant. Why don't you go get some rest. You do look sick."

"I'b fine, Sir," Malcolm said feebly. "I just need to get some more gleenex, I dink I ran out of - ACHOO!"

Holding a hand in front of his nose, he quickly fumbled one of the crumpled hankies out of his pocket. "Sorry."

"That was order, Mr. Reed."

"But, Sir, I need to get dese updates finished - "

Archer let out an exasperated sigh. "You won't get them finished if you can't even open your eyes to read what's on the display. Off you go to bed, Lieutenant."

Malcolm looked positively depressed. "Sir, I bromise I won't sneeze anymore-"

"That's enough." Archer got up. "Commander Tucker, take Lieutenant Reed to his quarters."

Trip bit back a grin as he saw Malcolm's scowl. T'Pol looked up from her station, raising an eyebrow.

"Why are you so adamant about staying on the bridge when you are obviously ill?" she asked, sounding honestly confused.

Malcolm sniffed. "Begause I'b fine."

T'Pol stared at him for another moment, then gave the tiniest of shrugs and turned back to her computer. Hoshi giggled, and Trip got up from his station.

"Well, come on, Malcolm, let's go."

Reed glared at him and Trip had a hard time keeping a straight face as he continued. "Hey, don't look at me like that. Captain's orders."

Slowly Malcolm rose from his chair, leaving a trace of crumpled-up handkerchiefs behind him as he made his way to the turbolift. Trip followed him, stopping in tracks as he heard Jon's voice.

"Trip, make sure he really lies down. Lieutenant, if I happen to stop by the Armoury later and find you disobeyed my orders to stay in your quarters, I'll personally wake Dr. Phlox and have him confine you to sickbay for at least five days. Is that clear?"

Malcolm's face fell. "Yes, Sir."

"Very good." Archer sat back down in his chair and turned back to his introduction, the frown never leaving his face. As the doors of the turbolift had closed behind them, Trip turned to Malcolm.

"He's quite cranky this morning, isn't he? Wonder what's eatin' h-"

"HAA-"

Trip recoiled in horror, but it was too late.

"AACHOO!!!"

Trip wiped off his face, giving Malcolm a sour look. "Thanks for sharin'."

"Sorry." The Armoury Officer looked quite embarrassed as he searched his pockets, trying to find a kleenex that wasn't already soaking wet. After a while he gave up and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Trip watched him, once again wishing he'd gotten himself a cup of coffee before he'd started work this morning. Steaming black _caffeine_ coffee.

"Ever noticed how disgustin' people are when they are sick?" he asked conversationally as they stepped out of the lift and headed down the hallway in the direction of Reed's quarters. Malcolm gave him an offended glance.

"'Sguse me for living. Id's dot my fault Dr. Phlox is in hibernation at de moment, and no one else seems to know what to give for a simple cold."

They came to a halt in front of Reed's quarters and Trip opened the door. "After you."

Still scowling, Malcolm went inside, followed by Trip who took a quick glance around as he entered. As always, Reed's quarters were impeccably tidy, except for the usually empty trashcan under the desk which was now overflowing with used handkerchiefs. Malcolm came to stand in the middle of his room, looking as if he didn't know what to do next. Trip put his hands to his hips.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Malcolm asked defiantly. "I'm in my quarters, as the Captain ordered."

Trip rolled his eyes. "Malcolm don' be silly. You need ta lie down, or you'll never get better."

Reed still stood in the middle of his quarters looking like a sulking five-year-old, making no move to lie down or even change out of his uniform. Trip shook his head, walking over to Malcolm's bunk and lifted the pillow to get out Reed's pajamas from under it. He couldn't suppress a grin at the sight.

"Mr. Reed, do you always fold up your PJs when you put them away in the morning?"

Reed's ears reddened, matching his glowing nose and cheeks. "What's wrong wid dat?"

Trip shoved the carefully folded bundle into Malcolm's arms, grinning. "Nothin'. It's always an interestin' experience, watchin' Brits in their natural habitat. So why don't you get changed, and then you can mess up this wonderfully tidy bed and finally lie down?"

While Malcolm changed, Trip opened one of the cupboard drawers. Refraining from commenting on Reed's socks which were sorted by colour (black to black, beige to beige, grey to grey, and one flamboyantly brown pair in the very back of the drawer) he closed it again and opened the door of the cupboard.

"Ya got somethin' like a scarf in there?" he asked, turning back to Malcolm who was currently engaged in the act of placing his uniform neatly over the back of his desk chair.

Reed frowned. "Dere should be one somewhere in de top drawer, why?"

Trip pulled out a black woollen scarf and handed it to the Armoury Officer.

"My granny used to say if you're running a fever you need to sweat it out. That all the blankets you've got?"

Reed nodded bewildered and sat down on the edge of his bed, wrapping the scarf around his neck. He was just bending down to remove his socks when Trip stopped him.

"No, keep those on!"

Malcolm raised his head in confusion. "But my feet will get all sweaty!"

"They're supposed to get sweaty. That way you'll get rid of that fever in no time. I'll go get you some more blankets; be back in a minute."

Malcolm shrugged, obviously too weary to argue, and crawled under the covers with his socks still on. When Trip re-entered the room carrying a great heap of blankets and a tray, he saw Reed had pulled up the covers to his chin, his eyes closed. He was shivering, and despite the fact that it was one of those days Trip found it in him to feel sorry for the Armoury Officer.

"Too bad you went down with that cold while Phlox is still in hibernation. Well, seems like we're gonna have ta cure it the old-fashioned way."

Ignoring Malcolm's suspicious expression, Trip set down the tray on the nightstand and dropped the blankets onto Reed's bed.

"Now wrap yourself up real tightly and when you feel you're gettin' really hot drink some of the tea I brought you. Never mind the smell, it's a special recipe of my granny's to cure headcolds."

Reed sighed. "Trip, I don't think-"

"Stop arguin' Malcolm, or I'll tell Jon you're bein' uncooperative and he'll lock ya up in sickbay. You have my word, this'll make ya feel much better."

Meekly Reed sat up, gathering together the blankets Trip had brought him and straightening them. When the Armoury Officer was hardly visible anymore, buried under layers and layers of extra covers, Trip nodded in satisfaction.

"That's much better."

Looking around he found another box of kleenex in the bathroom and put it down next to the tea on Malcolm's nightstand.

"There ya go. Now try an' catch some sleep an' you'll be soon feelin' much better."

Reed muttered something like "Yeah, if I don't suffocate first", but Trip chose to ignore him. Dimming the lights, he took one last glance at the heap of blankets on the bed and tip-toed out of Reed's quarters, thinking about how lucky Malcolm was to have a friend like him.

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"It should have started by now. Too bad we can't be there in person to watch."

"I'm still not sure this was such a good idea. What if they find out?"

"Oh, they won't. They're far too stupid."

"Well, they managed to trick us last time, didn't they? And if they find out what we did, won't they be seeking revenge?"

"Revenge? They'll be seeking revenge?? They humiliated us like we've never been humiliated before, remember? We are the ones who are in the position to demand revenge, not they. And by the earlobes of my grandmother, we will get it, I swear."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thanks to JadziaKathryn and Exploded Pen for reviewing Chapter 1! Here's the next chapter, please R&R!

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Chapter 2

In the late afternoon of that day Jonathan Archer walked down the corridor towards Engineering, feeling strangely restless. Somehow he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything today, and least of all on that blasted introduction. It kept lurking in the back of his mind, no matter how often he tried to put it aside and catch up on some of his other work, for a change.

Three days ago Admiral Forrest had contacted him, sounding rather rueful as he asked him to write yet another foreword to yet another technical manual that was going to be published soon. Of course it was about warp technology, and of course everyone expected Jonathan Archer to come up with yet another witty, endearing, easy-to-read-yet-still-philosophical essay on how his father had made one of the greatest contributions to mankind's development by constructing a warp-five-engine.

All Archer had come up with yet, though, was a fairly wordy paragraph on how the Vulcan government had managed to delay the engine's completion for years, and as he read through it again, he winced at his choice of words more than once. Well, maybe he wasn't the best of essayists, but somehow Lieutenant Reed's constant sniffing and sneezing had made him nervous while he'd written that paragraph. And anyway, today seemed to be one of those days, and no one could expect you to come up with witty philosophical ideas on one of those days. Maybe Trip could help him. While philosophical witticism wasn't one of the engineer's strong sides either, sometimes the engineer's blunt way of voicing his opinion helped Archer to see things from a different point of view.

As he opened the door to Engineering, his eyes fell on the usual scene of buzzing activity. Several members of Trip's Engineering staff greeted him as he entered the room, but Tucker himself was nowhere to be seen.

Stepping closer to the stairs that led to the upper level, Archer saw Lieutenant Hess working at the main console where Trip was usually standing. She turned her head and smiled at him.

"Captain."

"Have you seen Commander Tucker, Lieutenant?"

Archer wasn't sure, but for a moment he'd had the impression Hess was biting back a grin as he'd mentioned Trip.

"Yes, Sir, he's taking care of one of the Jeffries tubes in the back."

"Thanks."

Bewildered, Archer made his way to the back of the room. Maintaining the Jeffries tubes was one of the dullest tasks in Engineering and very unpopular as well for you had to lie flat on your back for hours, tightening screws while a cramp was building in the back of your neck. Usually some hapless ensign got stuck with the job, and Archer remembered how Trip had told him once it was worth getting promoted just because nobody made you repair Jeffries tubes anymore.

Sure enough, though, as Archer had reached the back of the room he saw two blue-clad legs sticking out from one of the tubes. As he stepped closer, he heard a loud clang and Tucker's muffled voice.

"Damn son of a - "

Archer knocked on the side of the Jeffries tube. "Trip!"

There was another clang and the sound of a head bumping against metal.

"Shit!"

Nursing his forehead, Trip came crawling out of the Jeffries Tube. "Hell, Jon, d'ya have to startle me like that?"

"Sorry." Archer watched in confusion as Trip blinked several times, as if trying to clear his vision. "Everything alright with you?"

Trip grimaced. "Sure, I love to bang my head on the Jeffries tubes. Could do it all day long just for the fun of it."

Noticing Archer's frown, he sighed. "Sorry Jon. Guess there're days when it's better to stay in bed, ya know what I mean." He wiped off his hands on his uniform. "There somethin' I can do for ya?"

Archer was still not convinced. "You look awful, Trip. You sure everything's alright?"

Trip shrugged. "I'm fine," he said, sounding exactly like Lieutenant Reed. "Did ya check on Malcolm, by the way?"

Archer nodded. "I stopped by his quarters earlier to make sure he really stays in bed and doesn't sneak off to the Armoury when no one's looking. I don't think he's getting better, though. I sent down Liz Cutler to give him something for the headache." He shook his head. "I don't know what he was thinking, burying himself under all those blankets, no wonder he's got a headache. He was hardly able to breath."

But Trip didn't seem to have listened. He'd closed his eyes taking a deep breath and suddenly gave a sneeze. Sniffing, he looked back at Archer.

"'Scuse me, Jon, what did you say?"

Archer took a close look at his friend. Trip was paler than usual, his nose slightly swollen and red, his eyes glassy.

"Trip, I think you need to lie down as well. You look sick."

"I told you, I'm fine. I'm just - ACHOO!!"

Archer handed him a handkerchief and Trip sat down on one of the workbenches, blowing his nose.

"Oh boy, it feels like ma head's gonna burst any minute."

Archer reached out and put a hand to Trip's forehead. As he had expected, it felt hot.

"You're running a fever, Trip. Looks like Malcolm's given you his cold. You'd better go lie down in your quarters."

Trip got up. "No way. I still got work to do."

"Like repairing the Jeffries tubes?" Archer snorted in disbelief. "Come on, Trip, it's no use trying to get any work done when you're sick. Or do I have to call Security to take you to your quarters?"

Trip grinned weakly. "I just put Security to bed a few hours ago, so I don' think it would be much use callin' him."

"Trip-"

"Alright, alright, I'm goin'." He looked at Archer and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Did anyone ever tell you you're the worst motherhen ever to become a Starfleet Captain, Jon?"

Indeed, Archer had heard this particular accusation before, but felt his cheeks grow warm nonetheless. Trying to cover up his reaction, he made a shooing motion in Trip's direction, propelling him towards the door.

"Well, I do get the impression that at least two of my senior officers need a babysitter from time to time! Now go lie down, and I'll have Liz Cutler come by your quarters later to check if you need anything, okay?"

Trip turned to go, but not without a last smirk in Jon's direction. "Yes sir, Papa Archer."

"And don't call me that!!"

But Trip was already gone. Letting out a weary sigh, Jon looked down at the padd he was still holding. Seemed like he would have to find someone else to give him new ideas for his introduction. Well, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to ask T'Pol. She was a merciless beta-reader, but she had quite a talent of condensing things while he tended to get a little longwinded sometimes. And unlike Trip, she never failed to find every single spelling mistake.

Tucking the padd into his back pocket, Archer made his way back to the door and left Engineering. At the danger of being called an incorrigible motherhen (God, he _hated_ that word), he couldn't deny that he still felt a little worried. Charles Tucker III hardly ever got sick at all, and in all the years Archer had known him, he'd never had a headcold. Being used to the damp foggy air of the Florida Everglades Trip's lungs were immune to any kind of respiratory tract disease there was. Archer wasn't so surprised about Lieutenant Reed, who was affectionately being called "Malcolm the Sneezer" by some of his Security underlings and Trip (not that they'd ever dare to say it in front of him, except for Trip who had only the faintest grasp of what "tactfulness" meant). But even Malcolm with his allergies could hardly have contracted a cold on a sterile starship where the air was constantly being filtered and recycled. He'd managed before, of course, but then the virus had come from inside some vacuum-sealed equipment box. And as far as Archer remembered, they hadn't gotten any new equipment - vacuum-sealed or not - during the last four month.

Could a virus survive, lurking somewhere in some far corner, for more than two years? But why should it suddenly begin to spread again after being inactive for so long, even if (and Archer seriously doubted that was the case) it actually could survive for such a long time? There had to be another explanation.

Briefly, Archer considered waking Dr. Phlox, but he dismissed the idea as he thought of how... disoriented the Denobulan doctor usually was when woken up from hibernation too early. And it was no urgent emergency either, so Archer decided rather to deal with two sick and grumpy officers himself than entrusting them to the care of one tired and grumpy physician. He recalled every planetfall they'd made during the last three month and realized there had been indeed many opportunities Malcolm and Trip could have caught that virus. Well, as long as the symptoms were more or less harmless there was no need to worry, Archer told himself. Raising his hand he massaged the back of his neck where a dull pain was throbbing. He hadn't had much time to go to the gym lately, and noticed with mild irritation that he was beginning to feel kind of sluggish. Time I get some exercise, he thought, making a mental note to pay a visit to the gym later. But first he had to get that introduction done.

He pressed the buzzer at the door to T'Pol's quarters and felt nervosity building in the pit of his stomach. Although he knew perfectly well he was being silly, he couldn't help the queasy feeling he always experienced when he let T'Pol read something he had written, even when it was as dull as these introductions. It was only with her that he felt like this. He didn't mind Trip making snide remarks in that drawling hillbilly way of his, nor did he mind Hoshi politely hiding a grin when she pointed out his occasional grammar mistakes. But every time T'Pol's eyebrow only so much as twitched when she read what he'd written he felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. Somehow it mattered a lot what she thought of the way he expressed his thoughts and feelings.

Archer never pondered on this feeling for long, nor did he try to think of where it might come from. He'd thought about it long enough to realize it would certainly complicate his life to pay too close attention to that subject, so he tried not to. Between planet explorations, first contacts and diplomatic missions his life was complicated enough already.

The bulkhead swished aside and T'Pol stood in the doorway, wearing a richly ornamented meditation robe. In comparison to the tight-fitting Vulcan uniform the robe was of loose cut, and somehow it made her features look even more delicate. Archer cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. Maybe it's better if I come back later..."

T'Pol stepped aside, making room for him to enter.

"You did not disturb me, Captain. I have just finished my meditations. Please, come in."

As he entered, a comfortable warmth embraced him, as it always did when he was in her quarters. The room temperature was kept slightly higher than it was in the rest of the ship; with the dim candlelight casting strange shadows on the walls and the strangely shaped ceremonial object decorating the wall above her bunk it felt like entering the entrance hall of a Vulcan monastery. A faint trace of incense was in the air and Archer's eyes fell on two candles burning in their holders on the floor. His head felt strangely woozy and he blinked to clear his vision.

"Well, I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I thought maybe you could take a look at this."

He retrieved the padd from his pocket and handed it to T'Pol. She switched it on and scanned through the text, raising an eyebrow.

"The introduction?"

"Yes. It's not finished yet," he added hastily. "It's just that I... I don't really know how to continue after that last paragraph and thought maybe you would come up with something."

T'Pol's eyebrow quivered slightly. Had she been human, a smile would have been tugging at the corner of her mouth. Being Vulcan, her lips were a perfect straight line, but there was no mistaking the amused glint in her eyes as she looked up at him.

"How much time did you spend on this, Captain?"

Archer shrugged, feeling a little stupid. "No idea. Some hours, I s'pose."

T'Pol folded her hands around the padd. "Captain, it is just an introduction to a technical manual, and I seem to recall Admiral Forrest advising you to keep it "short and sweet"."

She scanned through the text again.

"I do not think it was necessary to write sixteen pages."

Archer sighed. "I know! I tried to keep it short, but I can't say all this on three or four pages."

T'Pol's eyebrow twitched again. "I think Admiral Forrest had about one and a half page in mind when he asked you to write this."

"There's no way I can describe my father's life and work in one and a half page."

T'Pol put the padd down on her desk and eyed him intensely.

"Captain, are you feeling well?"

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Of course she would ask this. "Last time I checked, we weren't passing any singularities. I'm not going crazy, T'Pol, I just want to get this finished."

She clasped her hinds behind her back.

"Captain, I was not referring to your... dedication to writing these introductions. While you do tend to exhaust yourself in your effort to produce a more or less perfect result, I do not think your mental health is in immediate danger at the moment."

Sometimes the greatest challenge in talking to T'Pol was sorting out all those sophisticated expressions and translating them into normal English. Still, Archer couldn't really tell whether he'd just been insulted or complimented. Somewhere in the back of his skull he felt a headache starting.

"What were you referring to, then?"

She gave him another one of her intense stares. "Captain, you look tired."

No surprises there; he hadn't slept very well that night and with every minute he spent in this warm room breathing the scented air he felt his sore eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

"Well," he heard himself saying, his voice a drawl that actually reminded him of Trip, "maybe I just need to get some rest. I've been feeling kinda weird all day."

"Maybe you want to sit down for a moment while I go through this..."

T'Pol's voice sounded a little worried, but Archer didn't really notice. He sat down on her bunk, leaning heavily against the wall. Closing he realized how tired he actually was. The pain in the back of his neck was slowly beginning to ease and he felt more relaxed than he had in days. But he couldn't very well fall asleep in his Science Officer's quarters... and besides he needed to finish that introduction. He would just let himself drift and think of nothing... only for a minute...

T'Pol looked up from her reading when she heard a strange sound coming from the direction of her bunk. A moment later she realized it was a snore. Captain Archer was fast asleep, his head resting on her pillow, his mouth half-open and a small trace of drool running down his chin. Allowing herself a small sigh, T'Pol got up and lifted Archer's legs onto the bed as well, getting him into a more comfortable position. She pulled off his boots, placed them in front of the bed and got a blanket from her cupboard to cover him with. As her eyes fell on his pale face, she noticed an unhealthy red glow on his cheekbones. He looked just like Lieutenant Reed had looked this morning before Archer had sent him to his quarters.

T'Pol frowned. She had noticed several crewmembers not working at peak performance today, their movements clumsier and their faces paler than usual. Then she had thought nothing of it; she knew humans sometimes experienced what they called a "bad day", due to lack of sleep or excessive partying. But having those "bad days" didn't usually include running a fever or showing all the symptoms of a really bad headcold. T'Pol stared down at her sleeping Captain and slowly raised an eyebrow. Something definitely strange was going on here.

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"I don't think I felt that good since... a long time. It is quite a satisfaction to know they will suffer."

"But cousin... where's the profit in this? All we did was spending money, *lots* of money on this, and we don't even know whether it will work!"

"It will work, Krem, I assure you. After month and month of planning... if there is any justice to this universe, it will work. And they will pay for what they did to us."

"But... but there will be no permanent damage, will there, cousin?"

"O for the Great Celestial Safe's sake, Krem! Do you have to ask the same questions over and over again? I *told* you there won't! I'm not a cruel person, and it would have been to expensive, anyway. But we can't let them interfer with our business and get away unscathed! Don't you agree?"

"Of course I do..."

"And these hu-mans *are* exceptionally dim! I can't believe they fell for the same trick again! The artefact wasn't even that different from the one we used last time. It's like shooting **vergh** in a barrell."

"What if they put it into decontamination?"

"It doesn't matter. Dr. Leris assured me the virus will survive every known decontamination procedure without losing any of it's contagiosity. Believe me, I spent month on working this out. They will pay."


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks to Reedie, Exploded Pen and Ocean for reviewing Chapter 2.

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Chapter 3

Personal log, Subcommander T'Pol:

It is now two days ago that the first crewmember has fallen ill, and conditions have been deteriorating ever since. With the exception of me and Dr. Phlox who is still hibernating there are now only few people on this ship who are not suffering from the symptoms the unknown virus seems to be causing. Worst affected are by far Captain Archer, Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed. It is quite difficult for me to take adequate care of my sick collegues with most of the nurses on light duties and Dr. Phlox still asleep. Fortunately Ensign Sato has remained unaffected by the virus except for a light case of headcold and is able to assist me in this task which can prove quite... taxing sometimes."

Hoshi Sato pressed the button to open the door to Lieutenant Reed's quarters and entered. It was quite dark in here, the lamp on the nightstand emitting only a faint glow. As she stepped closer to the bed, she noticed a few strands of dark hair sticking out from under the covers, saw the heap of blankets rising and falling evenly and sighed in relief. At least he had been able to get some sleep in the meantime. She didn't really want to disturb him now, but she knew they had to keep the schedule T'Pol had set up or they would never manage to take care of all the people who had fallen ill. They were working 24 hours a day as it was, T'Pol and a few biologists holed up in the lab trying to find out what had caused the epidemy, the rest of them fully occupied with their nursing job.

By a strange coincidence (or maybe it wasn't coincidence, after all) it were mostly the women who stayed more or less unaffected by the virus. Hoshi thought this to be quite an unfortunate turn of events since men were definitely the worst of patients, some feeling the need to prove they were real tough guys by refusing to go bed, others whining and complaining about every little headache like it was going to kill them, and most of them doing both at the same time.

Still, Hoshi felt quite sorry for Lieutenant Reed as she carefully lifted the blankets he had buried himself under and her eyes fell on his exhausted, feverish face. He scrunched his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of light and blindly groped around to retrieve his covers. Hoshi put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.

"Malcolm."

He still wouldn't open his eyes. "Whassup?"

"You need to sit up and eat something. I brought you some soup..."

He shook his head, eyes still closed. "Not hungry, thank you."

Hoshi sighed, trying not to think of how many times she had gone through this conversation during the last forty-eight hours.

"Malcolm, you need to eat something."

"I'm really not hungry, thanks, Hoshi."

"I know, but it's been almost two days since you last had something to eat. Look, I even found you some pineapple upside-down cake that was left over. Come on now, don't be stupid."

Finally he pried open his swollen eyelids, giving her a weary look.

"No sleep until I do what you say, right, Ensign?"

She couldn't help but smile at his expression. "You got it, Lieutenant. Now sit up so I can give you that soup and the cake."

Slowly, awkwardly he got himself into a sitting position, wiping his hands on the covers before he took the soup bowl she handed him. 

"I hope you like chicken soup," she said, watching as he carefully dipped the spoon into the hot liquid and took a sip. He swallowed quickly and nodded.

"Oh yes, it's fine, thank you."

Hoshi watched as he took another sip, grimacing slightly as he swallowed.

"You sure you like it? Not too salty?"

He raised his eyes in confusion, then smiled. 

"It's really fine, thank you. It's just that my throat's quite sore and I seem to have trouble swallowing."

"I brought you some tea, maybe that'll help." She glanced at the tray she'd brought with her. "Maybe pineapple cake isn't such a good idea if you got a sore throat."

Malcolm hastily finished with his soup and put down the bowl.

"Well, since you already went to the trouble of carrying that cake all the way from the mess hall to my quarters, I might just as well eat it."

Hoshi bit back a grin at the hopeful expression on his face. She picked up the plate with the cake and held it up, well out of his reach, pretending to study it worriedly.

"I don't know... are you sure? Pineapple's got quite a lot of fruit acid; I don't want to be responsible for giving you a throat ache."

Glancing down at the Lieutenant, she wondered if Reed knew his ears turned a bright, glowing red at occasions like this.

"I'm sure I'll be just fine," he said, never taking his eyes off the cake. "Can I have it now?"

Hoshi still held up the plate, fighting with all might to keep a straight face.

"I think I'd better ask Liz Cutler first if it's okay for people with a sore throat to - "

"Hoshi." Malcolm sounded quite desperate. "Can I _please_ have that cake now?"

"Pretty please with a torpedo on top?"

Malcolm closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Pretty please with a torpedo on top."

That moment the door swished open and spoiled her fun. Hoshi quickly put down the plate in front of Malcolm who looked immensely relieved, grabbing hold of it before she could snatch it away again.

T'Pol strode into the room, taking a short, irritated glance at Lieutenant Reed who was consuming cake at an almost incredible speed, then looking at Hoshi.

"Ensign, I need to talk to you for a minute."

"What is it?" Hoshi waited for Malcolm to finish his cake (he looked quite embarassed as he handed her the empty plate) and picked up the tray. 

"Hope you'll be able to get some rest," she said sweetly, glancing over her shoulder at the Lieutenant who had slumped back against his pillow, looking quite exhausted. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Yeah, to torture me some more," he muttered darkly, and T'Pol raised an eyebrow at Hoshi. Feeling her cheeks grow warm, Hoshi quickly put a hand on the Vulcan's arm and led her towards the door.

"I think Lieutenant Reed really needs to get some sleep now," she said firmly, trying to ignore T'Pol's surprised look and the muffled snort that came from the direction of the bed. As the door had slid shut behind them, Hoshi turned to T'Pol.

"Bad news?"

The Subcommander clasped her hands behind her back. "Ensign Hall and I have been able to locate the source of the virus."

"Where did it come from?"

T'Pol began to walk down the corridor and Hoshi had to hurry to catch up with her.

"Do you remember the artefact we collected two weeks ago when Captain Archer sent down an away team to the Min-Shara planet we came across shortly after we passed the nebula?"

Hoshi nodded. "Yes, of course. Some kind of ancient probe, wasn't it? Trip and Malcolm were holed up in Engineering for days, taking it apart to find out how it worked. And you're saying it was contaminated?"

"Yes. Apparently the virus was able to withstand decontamination." T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I admit this strikes me as odd. Decontamination is supposed to eliminate all organic micro-organisms. I cannot understand how this virus was able to survive."

Hoshi sighed. "Suppose it's just our bad luck. Did you find out whether it's..."

T'Pol glanced at her and although the Vulcan would never have admitted it, something like compassion tinged her voice as she answered Hoshi's unspoken question.

"The virus does not seem to be of a lethal kind. Of course we do not know for sure," she hastened to add, but Hoshi still felt a great weight being lifted off her shoulders. If T'Pol _believed _the virus not to be of a lethal kind, then that was good enough for her.

"Well," she said, feeling a smile begin to spread over her face, "that's at least something."

They passed another door and Hoshi suddenly stopped in her tracks, almost upsetting the bowls on her tray.

"Oh-I almost forgot! Trip hasn't gotten his lunch yet!"

She turned around and to her surprise she noticed T'Pol following her.

"Subcommander?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "You seemed to have some... difficulties with Lieutenant Reed. Commander Tucker can be very stubborn on occasions as well, so my assistance may prove beneficial."

Hoshi could have sworn she had seen an evil glint of anticipation in T'Pol's eyes, but told herself she must have been mistaken. T'Pol was Vulcan, after all, and the chance to make certain people suffer a little held no temptation for her.

In the meantime they had reached Commander Tucker's quarters and T'Pol pressed the button to open the door. Obediently, the bulkhead slid aside and revealed a scene of chaos. The floor was littered with crumpled-up hankies, clothes, towels, dirty socks and what not else. In front of the bed there was a stack of engineering manuals, another one of what Hoshi recognized as _Calvin and Hobbes _comic-books and a big box with photos Trip had apparently been trying to bring into some kind of order. As Hoshi carefully approached the bed, she almost stepped onto a plate of half-eaten pecan pie that was standing on the floor beside the nightstand. Sighing, she picked it up and looked for a place to put it down. As she found none, she just set it down onto the stack of comic-books, stepped over the Engineering manuals and came to stand beside the bed.

Just like Lieutenant Reed, Commander Tucker had buried himself under a heap of blankets and was hardly visible at all except for his feet sticking out from under the covers.

Hoshi shook her head. "Look at that, he didn't even take off his socks! His feet are going to get all sweaty like that."

T'Pol cast a glance at Tucker's feet and wrinkled her nose ever so slightly. "I believe that has already happened."

Hoshi hid a grin and bent down to pull back the covers. First she thought Trip was asleep, but then she noted the earplugs and the walkman, half-hidden under his pillow. T'Pol picked up a small plastic case from the nightstand and raised an eyebrow as she read the text on the handwritten cover.

"_Aerosmith - The Feel-Good-Remix _- what is _Aerosmith_?"

"Some people call it music." Hoshi tried to find out where to shut off the ancient walkman, then gave up and simply pulled the plugs out of Trip's ears. His eyes flew open and he stared at her with a startled expression on his face.

"What-"

Hoshi smiled sweetly. "Hello, Commander. Time for your lunch."

Trip groaned, turning over and groping for his covers. "Ah'm not hungry."

She grabbed the blanket he'd just been pulling over his face.

"Trip. You need to eat something. I brought you some chicken soup, look."

Ignoring the bowl she held right in front of his face Trip looked up at her, giving her his best puppy-eyes.

"Hoshi, please, I jus' wanna go back ta sleep."

"If your intention was to sleep, Commander, then why did you listen to this noise?"

Both Trip and Hoshi turned their heads. T'Pol was holding one of the earplugs to her ear and listened with growing confusion on her face. Hoshi grinned, but Trip's voice sounded genuinely hurt as he answered.

"That's not a 'noise', that's ma own personal Feel-Good-Remix. Arranged it maself too."

"This might be an explanation," T'Pol stated cryptically and Trip snatched the walkman from her hand, a lot less sleepy than he had been only a minute ago.

"Look here, lady, if ya don' like it don' listen to it."

She raised an eyebrow, surveying the stacks of books and photos in front of his bed.

"I see you were trying to occupy yourself," she said, picking up one of the photos. "Fascinating. I did not know you were in the habit of putting on make-up."

Hoshi tried to get a look at the picture too, but Trip had already grabbed it and stuffed it into his pajama pocket, blushing furiously.

"I'm not! That was at a party at the Academy, alright? I fell asleep and the guys, well, I guess they thought it funny."

Still quite red in the face he looked back at Hoshi who was still holding the bowl, trying not to spill any of the soup as she was shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Well, what about lunch?" he asked in one of his obvious attempts at changing the subject. Hoshi handed him the bowl, glancing at her tray.

"I brought you some dessert too, but I don't know if you'll like it. It's just some fruit salad."

"Oh, that's just fine. Didn't even finish the pie you brought me this mornin', I wasn't that hungry somehow." He glared at T'Pol. "Probably missed your charmin' dinner company."

She raised an eyebrow. "I found myself experiencing a decrease of appetite as well. I think with you absent I miss the usual background noise of your food consumation."

Trip looked ready to jump out of the bed and strangle her.

"Criticisin' ma table manners, are ya?? Well, at least I don' live off rabbit food like some people I could mention. Must be the ears, come to think of it."

"Interesting hypothesis. Your nose somewhat resembles the snout of an anteater; according to your theory this should lead to quite fascinating conclusions concerning your eating habits, should it not?"

Hoshi bit down on her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud. Trip stared at T'Pol, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound coming out. Finally he decided it beneath him to answer, finished his soup with one last swig and handed the bowl back to Hoshi.

"Thanks."

Stuffing the earplugs back into his ears he plopped down on his pillow, gave T'Pol one last deadly glare, then turned his back on them and pulled the covers up to his chin, obviously sulking. T'Pol gave Hoshi the ghost of a smile and turned to go. Hoshi followed her and couldn't help but grin at the other woman as soon as the door had slit shut behind them.

"That was mean. It worked all right, but it was really mean." Thinking of Lieutenant Reed, her smile broadened. "Seems like we've got something in common, Subcommander."

T'Pol arched an eyebrow at that and Hoshi wondered how she ever could have thought the Vulcan had no sense of humour.

"I only did what seemed the most logical course of action. We needed to convince Commander Tucker to eat and my method was probably the most effective."

Hoshi, of course, saw right through her, and she knew that T'Pol knew she did, but neither of them said another word about it as they walked down the corridor together.

Finally Hoshi broke the silence.

"So if you found the source of the virus, were you also able to come up with a possible cure yet?"

"The virus seems to be quite unique in its resistency against all known toxins, but we were able to develope a formula that should prove lethal to its organism."

Hoshi had already opened her mouth to ask T'Pol why on earth she hadn't said so earlier, when she saw the Vulcan holding up a hand.

"There is a problem, though. The formula contains Ptera-ox, a rare vegetable poison produced by certain species of succulents which grow mainly on desert planets. Ptera-ox is a substance which cannot be synthesized, so..."

Hoshi could see where this was leading, and experienced a sinking feeling in her stomach. "So we have to fly to the next desert planet available and dig for some of these succulents?"

"We are already en route to Mura Prime, a desert planet the Vulcan explorers have categorized as Min-Shara class and where according to the Vulcan Database we will find plenty of Ptera-ox-producing succulents. We will reach the planet in three days."

"Well, that's great, isn't it?" But T'Pol's expression - or rather not-expression - told Hoshi that she hadn't finished yet.

"I am afraid it is not quite as easy as it sounds. Mura Prime is an inhabited planet, so we cannot simply land there and "dig up" a few plants. And this is why I need to talk to you, Ensign."

T'Pol's voice sounded quite grave, as it always did when she had to break some bad news, and tried to do it tactfully without losing her logical Vulcan countenance. Hoshi sighed.

"And the Murans aren't easy to get along with, right?"

T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back. "Essentially yes. The Muran society is quite... different."

Hoshi frowned. "How different?"

"It is a matriarchy, with very strict rules concerning the male-female roles. The Muran women treat their men the same way some Terran societies treated their women several hundred years ago. Their political system is a strict hierarchy, with so-called clan leaders presiding over small countries and states. In dealing with Muran diplomates it is essential not to... offend them by the wrong choice of words, or even gestures. The Universal Translator may prove insufficient in this case." T'Pol gave Hoshi one of her absolutely Vulcan looks. "I am relying on you, Hoshi."

Hoshi took a deep breath. "Do you think they will even talk to us?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "That should not be a problem, as long as you or I or any other female does the talking. They are not a hostile people, they are only quite... opinionated concerning certain matters."

Despite herself, Hoshi felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I bet the Captain really liked this."

T'Pol resolutely did not sigh. "He agreed to change our course in the direction of Mura Prime, but I have not had the chance yet to inform him about the Muran society in greater detail. He... fell asleep."

Hoshi bit her lip. "Poor guy."

"Indeed. But as... strange as we might find the Muran society to be, our main priority must be the acquisition of the necessary substances for the formula, and soon. While there are no lives in danger at the moment, the virus might mutate and prove lethal, after all."

She looked at Hoshi. "We must not waste any time."

Hoshi nodded. Even though she still felt quite worn out, partly due to her headcold and partly to the double shifts she'd been pulling during the last two days, T'Pol's news had given her new energy, like a cup of coffee or three hours of good sound sleep. She'd been able to forget about her worries before, teasing Lieutenant Reed, making the best of their situation just like everyone else (after all there was no use in upsetting their sick collegues even more by acting as if they were all going to die soon). Still, Hoshi had never really been able to get rid of that cold knot of fear which sat persistently in the pit of her stomach, or that treacherous little voice in her head which kept whispering gloomy predictions, telling her to give up hope right away. Not until a few minutes ago. T'Pol seemed quite confident about their chances to convince the Murans to let them do a little gardening in that desert of theirs, and Hoshi could even play an active part in this. It sure felt better than not being able to do anything but giving out chicken soup and talking grumpy officers into taking their cough drops. And they were going to do just fine. If T'Pol took matters in hand, everything would be going just fine.

"Well, with the boys all flat on their backs, it seems like we're going to be on our own this time," she said, smiling at the Vulcan who raised an eyebrow.

"Does this trouble you, Ensign?"

Now it was Hoshi's turn to raise her eyebrows. "No, why do you ask?"

T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back. "Human females sometimes tend to adopt a so-called "helpless manner" when they have to face problems on their own, without male help. Or so I have been told."

Despite her indignation, Hoshi felt a smile spreading on her face.

"Not this one," she said, pressing the button of the turbolift. "Not this one, Subcommander."

__

"Well, what about the females?"

"What do you mean, Krem?"

"Dr. Leris said the females won't be affected. Or not as much, anyway. What if they find out the artefact was contaminated?"

"Krem, please! Did you ever hear of a female who had enough brains to sign a cheque on the right side, let alone run a computer analysis of a virus organism? Believe me, they won't find out."

"Well, the pointy-eared one sure managed to trick me when I-"

"Krem! No offense intended, but tricking you is fairly easy. You even believed me when I promised I'd sell you the ship for three bars of latinum if you took off my restraints..."

"That was really mean."

"Rule of Acquisition Number 6, remember? Never let your relatives stand in the way of your profit. And what I'm saying is you need not be worried about the females. Don't give me that look. Your precious pointy-ears will probably not be affected, anyway. She told you her body was different, didn't she?"

"-----"

"Krem?"

"What? Oh, excuse me, cousin, I was just... thinking of something."

"I bet you were."

"What?"

"Nothing. Well, isn't it a wonderful feeling to know that with my genius and you doing the work we can achieve almost anything - even giving those blasted hu-mans a real hard time. Now I'll be able to sleep again without having those nightmares... all those bars of latinum I am sure they had hidden somewhere on that ship of theirs... and we didn't even SEE them... oh, thinking of them makes me feel like crying again..."

"Deep breathing, cousin. Try to see the positive side of it... at least you got your revenge."

"Well, that's true. And by the Three Fiscal Saints, they won't forget that one so easily."


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thanks to Exploded Pen, Ocean, csifan 2000 and The Libran Iniquity for reviewing Chapter 3. Here's Chapter 4 (the last one) - please R&R!

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Chapter 4

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"SevR' qHrTha LechpaX Lknh."

Hoshi felt a cough building in her throat and swallowed. After hours and hours of practicing Muran courtesy phrases she felt like her throat was on fire, and the fact that the Vulcan Subcommander was leaning over her shoulder re-checking the UT data on her display certainly didn't help to make her feel less apprehensive. The meeting with the Muran ambassador - or rather, ambassadress - was going to start in less than three hours and Hoshi still felt she wasn't quite getting the hang of that modulation in tone that was so important when speaking the Muran main dialect.

__

"Lighqy wsre xhrTHa."

If you pronounced a word not loud enough, it could take on a completely different meaning, and by pronouncing it too slowly you indicated you didn't think much of your opposite's heritage, which in the Muran society was the worst of insults.

Hoshi sighed. It seemed like she was in for another linguistical tight-rope walk - only this time the worst thing that could happen wasn't just some disgruntled aliens leaving the ship before Chef had had the chance of serving them his latest version of Chicken Masala; this time there was a lot more at stake. If T'Pol and she could not convince Ambassadress Sa!Veen to let them send an away team down to the planet to get some of those succulents, they were going to be in quite a lot of trouble.

__

"LechpInh Ws cvhuRa." (Those glottal stops were going to kill her - how were you supposed to pronounce a word quickly and smoothly if you had to twist your tongue like that?)

Mura Prime was the only planet within a distance of more than ten light-years which harbored Ptera-ox plants, and they needed the cure soon. As soon as possible. More than three quarters of the crew were incapable of performing anything but the lightest of duties, and chaos reigned throughout the ship. The corridors were littered with empty trays and aspirin boxes, consoles left unattended were giving off shrill beeping noises only to be shut off by some overworked ensign who was balancing an over-sized jug of tea in one hand and a bed-pan in the other. And it was by no means easy to convince the patients to stay in bed and out of the way, least of all Reed, Tucker and Archer. Despite T'Pol's assurances that his presence at the meeting would do no good, and could even be interpreted as an insult, Captain Archer had insisted on participating in the negotiations. In the end T'Pol had given in, if only so he would stop arguing and lie back down again, but judging by her gloomy expression she wasn't happy with that decision at all. At least the Murans had given them no trouble when they had approached their planet, and had agreed to send some diplomates easily enough, but Hoshi knew they hadn't done so out of pure charity. The imposant turquoise-skinned alien she'd been talking to when the Murans had first answered their hails had made it quite clear the clan leaders wished to discuss "new technology" in greater detail before allowing any stranger to land on their territory. Meaning, give us at least two new resequencers and a blueprint of your shuttlepods or forget about the succulents, sista. Fortunately T'Pol had agreed to exchange the plants for technology, since the Murans had already traded with other spacefaring species and their formerly pre-warp society was contaminated already. Well, thank God for small favours.

__

"QUrrh ssChin LiPah."

This time Hoshi couldn't suppress a cough and put a hand to her mouth.

"Excuse me."

T'Pol cast her a sideways glance. "Are you feeling well, Ensign? Maybe you want to lie down for a while before Ambassadress Sa!Veen arrives."

Hoshi shook her head. "No, it's not the cold; it's just those irregular verbs that are giving me a throat ache."

She expected T'Pol to say something along the lines of "We are relying on your ability to pronounce those verbs correctly", but to her surprise T'Pol didn't say anything, only handed her a steaming cup of something that smelled like Vulcan herbal tea.

"Drink this. I find it helps."

As Hoshi carefully took a sip, she noticed that it was indeed some sort of Vulcan tea, and a very strong one, too. Gratefully she looked up at T'Pol.

"Thanks. Maybe you should give some to the Captain too; he seemed to have a sore throat as well as I talked to him earlier."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Actually, it is quite fortunate that the Captain's ability to speak is impaired, since the Murans would interpret as a serious breach of protocol if he were say anything during the meeting."

Hoshi noticed T'Pol's dry tone and smiled a little. Jonathan Archer could be quite stubborn, and although he would never willingly do damage to a first contact, maybe it was just as well that he was going to attend that meeting with a sore throat. Keeping quietly in the background wasn't really something he was good at.

Switching off the screen, Hoshi got up. "Well, I think I know enough words to list the things we will give them in exchange for the plants, and express our heartfelt thanks, so with a little luck we should be alright."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I do not believe in the concept of "luck", Ensign, but I agree. There should not be any problems."

When Ambassadress Sa!Veen and her escort arrived, Hoshi couldn't help but be impressed. They were tall, the smallest of them at least six feet, and had the same greenish-blue skin as the Muran who had answered their call. Their white hair was artfully braided and piled on top of their heads, which made them look even taller. By Earth standards they were not exactly beautiful, their faces strangely broad and elongated, but their eyes were striking, dark and almond-shaped, almost like cat's eyes. Sa!Veen was the first one to step out of the shuttle (T'Pol had sent down shuttlepod 1 to pick them up), gathering up her robes with the air of a queen at a state visit as she came up the stairs to meet Hoshi, T'Pol and Archer. Her three attendants followed, a haughty expression on their faces as they looked around the shuttle bay.

__

"LechpInh Ws cvhuRa." Hoshi tried to keep her voice low as she spoke the words of greeting, and apparently it had worked, since Sa!Veen's face didn't twist up in anger, but only took on a slightly surprised expression.

"You speak our language?" she asked and the UT seemed to have no trouble translating her words into English. T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back, stepping forward to indicate that she was going to be the one who did the talking.

"Greetings. We thank you for your coming. Ensign Sato has endeavoured to learn a few phrases in your language, so we will be able to gain a better understanding in the few hours of your stay."

The Ambassadress' face twitched slightly and Hoshi supposed that was how a Muran usually smiled.

"I do hope we will understand each other, Captain, but it is not necessary for you to make your throats ache by trying to speak our language. We appreciate the courtesy, but I think the translator will suffice."

Hoshi thought the Muran friendly enough, but out of the corner of her eyes she had seen Archer wince as Sa!Veen addressed T'Pol as "Captain". While she had acknowledged both T'Pol's and Hoshi's presence with the diplomatic air of someone who was used to making first contact with strange species, Sa!Veen had not even looked at Archer, acting as if he wasn't there at all. Still, as T'Pol asked the Murans to follow her to the conference room, Hoshi saw one of the attendants look him up and down in quite an unpleasant way, grinning and whispering something to her neighbour, who started grinning as well. Fortunately Archer didn't seem to have noticed. He looked quite pale, and although Liz Cutler had given him an injection that was strong enough to fight the symptoms for at least three hours, Hoshi noticed he moved slower than usual, as if he was in pain.

Although she knew it served him right - why did he always have to be that stubborn, anyway - she felt sorry for him, and as the two Muran women kept sniggering, leering at Archer from behind, Hoshi felt anger rise within her. Who the hell did they think they were to treat him like that? Sa!Veen, however, did nothing of the sort. She talked to T'Pol all the way to the briefing room, ignoring her escort as thoroughly as she had ignored Archer when she had greeted them in the shuttlebay.

Hoshi followed Archer and the attendants into the conference room and saw T'Pol motioning Sa!Veen to the chair at the head of the table. The Muran sat down gracefully, straightening her robes as she did so. When she looked up, however, she froze in mid-movement, staring at Archer who had taken place at the other end of the table. The attendants, who had been talking quietly to each other, fell silent as well, staring at him as if he'd just materialized out of thin air. Sa!Veen turned to T'Pol, her voice cold with anger as she spoke.

"What is going on here, Captain?"

T'Pol's face was as calm as ever as she answered. "This is Jonathan Archer, one of my... tactical consultants. He will be attending the conference as well."

The attendants' eyes grew wide, and Sa!Veen rose from her chair. "I see no reason for you to insult us, Captain. You were the one who asked for this meeting. _Khavera_..."

She gave a short wave of her hand and the attendants got up as well.

"We will not be made fun of."

T'Pol had already opened her mouth to speak when Archer got up and addressed Sa!Veen personally.

"I'm sorry, Ambassadress. No one's insulting you, it's just that our people's customs are a little different from yours. If my presence bothers you, I'll-"

"Who allowed you to speak?" T'Pol's voice cut him off sharply and Hoshi startled. For a moment, Archer stared at her wide-eyed, then something like understanding dawned on his face. As he had started talking, Sa!Veen's eyes had blazed with anger and she had been already on the way to the door when T'Pol had opened her mouth. Now she was standing there, hands on her hips, watching as Archer backed off as submissively as he could.

"I beg forgiveness," he said and Hoshi heard something like anger mixed with amusement in his voice. Sa!Veen, however, seemed satisfied. She returned to her chair (apparently not willing to give up the chance to talk about "new technology" only because some impudent male had forgotten where his place was), smiling rather nastily as she saw T'Pol give a Archer a slight shove towards one corner of the room.

"Remain there, and do not speak another word," T'Pol said, and Hoshi bit back a grin at the expression on Archer's face. She couldn't wait to tell the others about this, especially Trip. They were going to have a laughing fit.

T'Pol folded her hands in front of her on the conference table.

"Again, I want to thank you for your coming. Ensign Sato has prepared a list of goods we are willing to exchange..."

The rest of the meeting went fairly well, and in the end Sa!Veen gave T'Pol the signed permission to send an away team to Mura Prime in order to get a few of the desert succulents which were growing in every climate zone of the planet.

Not much in exchange for a resequencer, three field scanners and several expensive electric tools, Hoshi thought wryly, watching the Murans get up with rather smug expressions on their broad faces. Well, at least we'll finally be able to get rid of that virus.

They were already on their way out when one of the attendants took T'Pol's arm. Hoshi recognized her as one of the women who had checked out Archer on their way to the conference room.

"Captain, I have a question..."

T'Pol looked at her with a rather surprised expression on her face. "Yes?"

"How much do you want for him?"

The Muran jerked her chin at Archer whose eyes had grown rather big as he heard her request. T'Pol turned around and looked at him, slowly raising an eyebrow. For one moment Hoshi was sure she had seen something like amusement flicker over the Vulcan's face.

"I am sorry," T'Pol said, turning back to the attendant. "He is not for sale. But, to be honest, you would not like him very much anyway. He is not very interesting. All he ever does is complain. And..."

She looked back at Archer and Hoshi was surprised to see a small smile on her lips as she continued.

"... he has got no sense of humour at all."

A few days after the away team - T'Pol, Hoshi and Liz Cutler - had returned from the planet, bringing something with them that looked like a warty yellow cucumber and contained enough Ptera-ox to cure half the quadrant, things began to slowly return to what passed as normal aboard Enterprise.

Synthesizing the cure had actually proved quite simple, and when they had been almost done, Phlox had woken up from hibernation and had helped them adding a few more ingredients to their concoction which helped getting rid of the vile taste. The Denobulan doctor had been mortified when he'd heard that half the crew had fallen ill while he'd been asleep, but admitted at the same time that waking him up would probably have done no good. When he saw the cure worked just fine, he stopped pacing to and fro in his sick bay, muttering dark self-accusations and congratulated T'Pol and Hoshi on their good work. 

He was by no means the only one. When injected directly into the bloodstream, the cure took immediate effect, and soon the doors of the crew's quarters opened one by one, pale figures with dark circles under their eyes came staggering out and slowly crept back to their stations. There was a lot of work to be done, cleaning up the mess in the corridors, re-checking systems which had been rendered faulty by neglection and of course taking care of the patients who were still recuperating from the virus.

The day the last of the senior officers returned to full duties Archer invited the bridge crew for dinner in the Captain's mess to celebrate the end of their plight.

Although everybody including Phlox and Ensign Mayweather followed the invitation, dinner was quite a subdued affair. Hoshi wasn't surprised - especially Trip and Malcolm still looked quite ragged around the edges, their faces drawn and pale, and their noses still clogged up, which made their voices sound quite funny. Their appetite, however, seemed to have returned. Trip polished off three plates of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, providing the "background noise" T'Pol had claimed she missed so much when he wasn't present at the dinner table, and still found room for three large pieces of pecan pie. In fact, he ate so much Malcolm asked him after the second piece of pie if he had somehow managed to get pregnant again.

Hoshi herself found that she wasn't quite as hungry; last week had taken its toll on her and she made a mental note to turn in early this evening. As she looked around the table at her collegues she thought that most of them seemed ready to hit the sack, with the exception of Dr.Phlox who looked as alert as ever, lecturing Ensign Mayweather on how an osmotic eel could heal even critically infected wounds. Travis, who hadn't finished with his spareribs yet, tried in vain to steer the conversation back to less medical topics.

He was rescued by Captain Archer who returned from his quarters, carrying a big bottle wrapped in green tissue paper. With the air of a magician producing a rabbit out of his hat he put it down on the table and went to fetch a tray with champagne glasses which had been standing on a table in a corner of the room.

Ripping off the wrapping paper he presented the bottle to his officers.

"Andorian Sparkle, vintage 2103," he said proudly. "I've been keeping it for some special occasion."

He filled the glasses and gave one to each of his officers. T'Pol accepted hers without a moment's hesitation - obviously the general rule "Vulcans do not drink" could be bend at certain occasions. Archer raised his glass and smiled.

"To the ladies," he said, raising his eyebrows at T'Pol who answered the gesture with a slight twitch of her own. "To Subcommander T'Pol and Ensign Hoshi Sato, who certainly pulled our tails out of the fire this time!"

Everybody raised their glasses at them, and Hoshi felt her cheeks grow pleasantly warm. She caught Malcolm's eye and saw the tiniest trace of a smile on his lips. She knew he hadn't forgotten about the Pineapple Incident yet, and was already planning his revenge. To her surprise she found herself looking forward to whatever he had in mind. This could turn out to be quite a lot of fun.

Clinking their glasses together, the men echoed Archer's toast "To the ladies" and downed their drinks with one swig, again with the exception of Phlox who nipped carefully at his and raised his eyebrows. "Interesting."

Smiling at him, Hoshi took a sip of her drink and felt the cool liquid tickle her tongue. Archer put his glass down on the table, looking at T'Pol who raised an eyebrow at him.

"I trust you are feeling better, Captain?" she asked, amusement tinging her voice. Hoshi had noticed a certain... change of atmosphere between the Captain and his first officer ever since the incident with the Muran attendant and she could have sworn there was something strange going on here. Archer leaned back in his chair.

"I'm feeling just fine," he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I have to admit, you really got me this time, T'Pol."

She put down her glass, resolutely not smiling. "Well, as Mr.Tucker would put it: _Now_ we are even."

Hoshi noticed Malcolm, Trip and Travis simultaneously raising their eyebrows at her and shrugged. Let them figure out this one on their own. Meanwhile Archer had pulled a padd out of his pocket and cleared his throat.

"Well," he said, "I'm glad everybody was able to come here tonight. It will please you to hear that I was finally able to finish that introduction..."

Ignoring the gloomy looks that were exchanged all around the table he continued.

"... and maybe it will surprise you to hear that I decided not to write about my father's life and work this time. Due to recent events I changed the topic of my essay to something I found to be more appropriate this time."

"Bet it's something like "The Importance of Not Giving Any Cheese to Your Beagle"," Trip muttered sarcastically. Malcolm sniggered, but Archer went on undeterred, ignoring both of them.

"If you don't mind, I would like to read part of it aloud and have you give me your opinions later."

Hoshi wondered if there was any way to escape him and looking at her collegues she knew they were all asking themselves the same question.

"'A Job for the Ladies - the Role of Women in Modern Space Travel'

While the leading positions in space travel as well as in seafaring have traditionally been occupied by men, reactionary minds recently have to face the fact that more and more young women are applying for the Starfleet Academy, a place where..."

Archer hadn't even reached the end of his first sentence when Hoshi already felt her brain shut down. She was so tired, and the Captain's essays tended to have a similar effect on her as a glass of warm milk shortly before getting ready to bed. As Archer droned on, she felt her eyelids drooping and had to pinch herself under the table to keep herself from falling asleep right then and there. Judging from the zoned-out expressions on the faces of her collegues she suspected that everyone except T'Pol was feeling the same way. The Vulcan Subcommander, of course, was listening as attentively as she always did. What was going on behind that mask of Vulcan politeness, however, was a different question.

"... and so, in a society where we have finally achieved an equal treatment of men and women, there are still voices which...."

Hoshi saw Malcolm leaning over to Trip.

"It's strange, isn't it?" he whispered.

The engineer frowned. "What are you talkin' about?"

"Well, think about it. First we catch a virus, the only one ever to survive decontamination, at the only time of the year when Dr. Phlox is asleep. Then we find out the only cure grows on a planet inhabited by some kind of amazons who steal half the technology aboard before they allow us to take one of those bloody plants. And now we even have to listen to one of the Captain's introductions. It almost sounds like someone planned this, doesn't it?"

Trip rolled his eyes. "Aww, Malcolm. Sometimes it's just life throwin' you a lemon, and not a conspiracy of some kind."

Hoshi saw the Armoury Officer giving Trip a thoughtful look, then leaning back in his chair without another word. But a moment before she went back to letting herself drift, trying not to fall asleep, she could have sworn she had heard him mutter:

"Yeah, and sometimes it's not."

__

"Well, that was certainly worth it, wasn't it, cousin?"

"Sure was."

"You don't sound quite happy, Krem. What's wrong? Don't you like the feeling of justice being redeemed?"

"Of course I do. I'm... well, it's stupid, but I feel kind of guilty. They were quite nice to me that time."

"Nice! They lured us into that make-believe safe of theirs and *shot* us! And you're saying they were nice! No-o, we had a score to settle with them and we did! We had every right to do as we did, and now we can finally go back to being honourable businessmen again."

"Maybe you're right, cousin."

"Of course I am. You still have a lot to learn, Krem."

"Yes, cousin."

"Now let's get back to business. Remember that Vulcan cruiser I told you about? Well, as you surely have guessed I already have a plan..."

****

The End


End file.
